


Don't Cry Over Spilled Coffee

by rachhell



Series: South Park Kink Meme [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Aftercare, Aged-Up Character(s), BDSM, Bottom Craig, Dirty Pictures, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Facials, Filthy, M/M, Nasty boys in love, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Punishment, South Park Kink Meme, They're Weird, This is weird, Top Tweek Tweak, Verbal Humiliation, boot licking, craig is a bratty sub, stupid craig, they naaaasty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-06 19:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14064276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachhell/pseuds/rachhell
Summary: Craig is a careless, clumsy brat, and Harbucks is expensive. Tweek isn't about to let his money go to waste.Alternate Title: This Is How You Get Ants.





	Don't Cry Over Spilled Coffee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [craigtherewhoisahomosexual (Ashtarok)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashtarok/gifts).



> Written for a prompt from @craigtherewhoisahomosexual on the (rebirth of the) South Park Kink Meme, for the prompt, "Can I please get literally anything with dom tweek over sub craig”
> 
> Ask and you shall receive, my friend. Ask and you shall receive. Here's Craig licking Tweek's boots and getting a facial. They're in their 20s and live together in this, to ~set the scene~

“Oops.” Craig shot a suggestive wink at Tweek, as his elbow knocked against the Harbucks cup sitting precariously at the edge of their kitchen table. The paper cup bent at the lip as the lid popped off, and the remaining half of Craig’s caramel macchiato (with an extra shot, and extra caramel drizzle, and a dash of cinnamon, all topped with praline sprinkles) splashed onto the tile floor. “My bad, sorry.”

Craig didn’t sound sorry in the least, and he knew it. He locked eyes with Tweek across the table, feeling a jolt in his stomach when he noticed that mischievous, sexy, _mean_ glint in Tweek’s eyes. That was exactly what he was hoping for, that the flirting, the attitude he’d been taking with Tweek all day while they were running errands would finally stir up that aggressive, dominant side to his boyfriend, a side of Tweek that Craig hadn’t seen in a while.

Really, Craig was just itching to be punished. It’d been months since they’d played, the stressors of their day-to-day life getting in the way of anything but routine, usually rather vanilla sex. It was satisfying, sure, but Craig wanted more.

He wanted his Sir back.

“You did that on purpose.” Tweek set down his phone, and pushed his chair away from the table, glaring at Craig through narrowed eyes, his legs crossed ankle-over-knee.

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.” _There_ it was, the grin that Craig wanted to see - crooked and silly, but powerful, commanding, and so, _so_ sexy.

Tweek wanted to play just as much as Craig did.

“Did not,” Craig monotoned, lips twitching in an effort to stifle his smirk, “Complete and total accident.”

“You had to be so fucking, ngh, picky with that drink and you wasted it. It was, like, eight bucks.”

“Oops,” Craig repeated, voice rich with flirtatious sarcasm, “So sorry. Definitely didn’t mean to.”

Tweek narrowed his eyes; his tongue darted out to slowly, purposefully wet his lips. “It was on _purpose_. Jesus, man, you’re gonna spill the coffee that I bought you on purpose? Clean it up.”

“Fine,” sighed Craig, “Fuckin’ boss me around, asshole.” He crossed to the cabinet under the sink, removing a spray bottle of all-purpose cleaner, and a spare roll of paper towels. “‘Clean it _uuuuuup,_ Craig,’” he mocked, with all intent to further piss off, further _turn on,_ his boyfriend.

“ _Stop.”_ Tweek’s chair scraped against the kitchen flooring with an unpleasant grinding sound that made Craig’s teeth itch. The heels of his leather Chelsea boots, his birthday present from Craig, clicked, rhythmic and steady against the tiles, unspoken threats carried alongside each step. Craig froze, facing the sink, until the steps were closer, until he could feel Tweek’s breath on his neck, his hands on his hips, and his body pressed flush against his back. Craig felt as if he was vibrating, shaking as much as the main against him on one of his bad days, but for all the right reasons. Tweek’s voice was like honey laced with venom as he reached around Craig’s torso to deliberately extract the cleaning products from his hands. They landed in the sink, water soaking through the roll of paper towels, but neither cared.

“Not with that,” Tweek spat, “You’re, nngh, you’re a _very_ bad boy, Craig.”

Sir. His Sir was back. Craig shuddered, powerless against the needy groan that escaped his lips.

“Am not,” said Craig, moaning shakily as Tweek grabbed his hips, and licked the nape of his neck. Tweek was hard, _so_ hard, his cock pressed between Craig’s cheeks, through too many layers of clothing - Craig needed them off, all of them, needed to lose himself in the sensation of Tweek’s hardness sliding against his tight, wanting hole, needed to be filled, to feel Tweek stretch him out and _take_ him - and Craig was too, painfully so, straining against his jeans. They felt so fucking tight, far too tight; he needed relief, release, but he knew he wasn’t going to get it, not with how he behaved.

But, that was, after all, what he wanted in the first place.

Craig grit his teeth to keep from crying out, keep from begging when Tweek spun him around, pressing his ass against the countertop. Even though Craig was over a head taller than his boyfriend - his _Sir_ \- it still felt as if Tweek towered over him. Because, with his sharp green eyes boring into Craig’s own, his teeth against Craig’s neck, then his ear; with his strong piano-player hands upon Craig’s hips, and then grazing against his stomach, under his shirt - right at the waistband of his jeans, just close enough to stroke the trail of black hair that started at his belly-button and thickened as it led downward, but no lower - and then higher, to pinch and flick Craig’s nipples, Tweek was a compelling, hypnotic force.

And, Craig did cry out, whined all desperate and deep when Tweek took his hands away. His hips bucked, outside of his control, another keen emitting from him when their involuntary jerk caused his denim-clad erection to press against Tweek’s hip. Tweek didn’t reciprocate, but stood strong, even though his eyes fluttered and his mouth opened a fraction in but the softest shudder of a moan.

“Such a bad little slut,” said Tweek, just above a murmur.

“Am _not,_ Sir,” he repeated in a whisper. “I’m good.”

“Are _so._ You’ve been, ah, you’ve been a very bad boy all day, haven’t you? A little brat. You’re always such a fucking brat _,_ aren’t you?” _Fucking try me. Try to fight back,_ Tweek seemed to say with his cheeky, yet unwavering gaze.

Craig could play along. He could fight. “Bullshit. I’m a fucking _good boy,”_ he snarled back.

Tweek’s lips were full and wet from licking them, from worrying his lower lip between his teeth with all obvious intentions of transfixing Craig, of making him unable to take his eyes away from that mouth. “You’re a _bad_ boy, and bad boys deserve to be punished,” he said. For a moment, Craig thought that Tweek might allow Craig to kiss him, a mere inch between their mouths, until Tweek stepped away just as Craig leaned in to close the gap, his boots clacking against their kitchen floor while he walked back to the table. He snapped his fingers, commanding, pointing down at the puddle of sticky-syrup coffee, which was surely cold by now. “I’m not wasting my money. I bought it for you, and you’re gonna drink it. Get down on the floor and lick it up.”

Tweek smiled at him. It was fleeting, but it was there, to remind Craig or, perhaps, both of them that it was all just a game.

Craig arched his eyebrow in response. “Make me, dick.”

“Do it or you don’t get to come for a month. Hands and knees, hnn, now, Craig.” Tweek very rarely raised his voice when he was like this, when he was Sir. On the contrary, he spoke in a soft, sharp tone, commanding yet somehow soothing, a night-and-day difference from his usual shouts and tics and general lack of an inside voice. It made Craig shiver all over.

Craig started to cross the kitchen, to walk the few short paces to where Tweek stood, when he snapped his fingers again. “I didn’t tell you to _walk_ over, dumbass. I said _now,_ didn’t I? Crawl.”

Craig felt like his eyes were going to roll back in his head out of sheer, humiliated pleasure, and maybe they did, when he dropped to his knees. That feeling of floaty emptiness, familiar yet long-missed, was beginning to take over, his mind focusing on nothing but getting there, doing what he was told, getting what he deserved and wanted - _needed._ He crawled on the floor like a dog, a fucking _dog,_ and that really shouldn’t have made his cock twitch, shouldn’t have made him mewl like a needy bitch but it _did,_ did it ever.

At some point, before he was there, Craig didn’t know when until he reached their table, Tweek sat down where Craig was when he started this whole thing, legs outstretched, his feet, the sides of his shoes in the _stupid_ coffee puddle which he’d never do because those boots were Hugo and three hundred _fucking_ dollars, and Tweek had turned into an obnoxious dick about fashion and he would absolutely _never,_ unless... Oh, god, _unless,_ and he _did_ want Craig to do that because he dragged the toe of his left foot through the liquid and fucking _chuckled,_ the sick _bastard,_ then nudged Craig on the chin with it, signaling him to look up, to meet his eyes.

When he did, when he saw the unbridled lust and laser-focus concentration in Tweek’s arousal-clouded gaze, the noise Craig made was some kind of pathetic, choked gurgle, the moan of _anything you want, anything,_ that he wanted to unleash caught in his throat.

“Oops,” Tweek said, in an obvious mockery of when Craig spilled the coffee in the first place, “It’s on my shoes. My shoes are, heh, they’re way more important than the floor. They’re brand new. And expensive _._ ” He spoke patiently, softly, and with a somewhat condescending voice that made Craig‘s face flush. “Now, what can we do about that?”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Craig sighed, under his breath. He knew Tweek heard, from the hitch in his breath, and the small, soft growl of a moan he emitted. “I know, Sir,” he said, louder, sarcastically, as he still tried to play along despite wanting to just give in, to be overtaken, “I know they’re expensive. I kinda bought them for you, _remember?”_

“Quiet. Clean my boots,” hissed Tweek.

Craig looked up at him, and had to bite his lip and clench his hands into white-knuckled fists to stop himself from taking his cock out of his jeans right then and there, because Tweek was grinning at him like a hyena zeroing in on its meal. “Fuck you,” Craig said, returning the smile. He couldn’t even try to pretend that he didn’t want this anymore, especially when Tweek nudged the toe of his boot against Craig’s cheek. It wasn’t anywhere near a kick, just a touch, a reminder, a command.

“Excuse me?” asked Tweek, shifting his foot so that the soft leather, damp and sticky with overpriced Harbucks, brushed against Craig’s lips.

Craig kissed it. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“No.” Tweek had raised his voice to a cutting snap, for but a second, but it was enough for Craig to sigh, enough to make his arousal deeper and harder and more intense, and enough for him to arch his back and, reflexively, wiggle his ass in the air (or was it thrusting his hips forward? He wasn’t sure, he didn’t care, they may as well have been one and the same) for just a moment, begging without words for Tweek to mess him up, to give him what he wanted and needed but what he _knew_ he wouldn’t get. “Repeat what you just said,” said Tweek, softly.

“Fuck you,” he murmured. He darted out his tongue to place an experimental lick upon the boot’s pointed toe, looking up at his boyfriend through heavy-lidded eyes. It tasted like coffee, and leather, and sidewalk salt, and everything and nothing all at once. It wasn’t as if he cared, either - he knew it was humiliating, and weird, and probably not very hygienic, but he loved every second of it because it was _Tweek._  “I said ‘fuck you,’ S-.”

His mouth was open far enough, Tweek’s boots were tapered at the toes just enough that he was able to wedge it inside, cutting off what Craig was about to say. Craig shifted his weight to his knees, grasping onto Tweek’s skinny calf as he swirled his tongue around, the same way he would around the head of Tweek’s cock. Even though Tweek couldn’t feel this, he let out a clear moan, which only served to make Craig want to work harder, to hear his boyfriend, his Sir, make more of those beautiful noises.

Tweek jerked his foot away. “You know that’s not how you talk to me. Stupid boy. No way I’m letting you so much as touch yourself today. Lick.”

The knees of Craig’s jeans were soggy with coffee, there having been enough left over in the cup for it to form a sizable spill upon their floor, but it was obvious that neither gave the mess in their kitchen any further regard. Craig bowed down as if he were deep in prayer, peppering little kisses upon first the left, then the right, and flattened his tongue upon the toes, and then the leather uppers and he didn’t really _need_ to do this, technically speaking, because they really weren’t wet or ruined or anything. But, his head was starting to clear and all of the stress of the following weeks and thoughts of chores and finances and the fucking bullshit he didn’t want to think about but always seemed to invade his brain like an irritating gnat that wouldn’t leave no matter how hard he swatted at it was _gone_ , replaced by nothing but drive to please.

He needed to do this for himself.

He was moaning, he was sure, pathetic little mewls coming from his mouth between the slurping-sucking of his mouth upon sleek leather. He could hear Tweek breathing, each little  grunt and growl an order for Craig to keep going, to be _thorough._

“You’re getting off from this, you sick fuck, you, hnn, you stupid bitch, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Craig whispered, lifting his head and opening his eyes. Tweek’s chest was heaving, one hand tangled in his hair and the other deliberately, slowly, palming his cock through his pants.

“What was that?”

“Yes, Sir. Turns me on so much, Sir,” whined Craig, “ _Fuck,_ so much.” Something felt better. Something was feeling better, something was feeling _good_ and Craig wanted to stay right there, wanted to come just like this with his head between his boyfriend’s shoes and his pricey, raw-denim jeans getting ruined by that _stupid_ Harbucks, something was _good,_ so good, and -

“Are you _fucking_ serious?“

He didn’t realize what he’d done, what a mistake he’d made, until it had already happened, until Tweek was lifting his head from his feet, by the crown of his hair and Craig was rising to his feet, and Tweek was grabbing his wrist, wrenching it away from the front of his jeans where he was grasping his long-neglected erection and rubbing his thumb against the head of his cock which was hot and leaking, and twisted it behind his back. Craig whimpered, deeply, hips twitching in hopes that he could make contact with Tweek again, with _something_ so that the ache would just _go away_ ; but, when the only thing that met his thrusts was the air, he cried out, louder, plaintive and desperate.

Tweek countered with a snort of air through his nose. Fucking _bastard,_ fucking _asshole,_ how could he do this, how could he keep _denying_ him, keep bringing him up and then dragging him back down again? God, fucking _god_ he hated it… but not as much as he enjoyed it, not as much as he got off on the discomfort and denial, the sheer humiliation of the entire experience being more powerful than any orgasm.

“Did you just touch your fucking dick?” Tweek spat, eyes blazing and mouth open, panting, “Answer me. Did, hnnn, did you just touch yourself without asking, you fucking dumbass?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Yes Sir _what.”_ Tweek was, again, close enough to kiss.

“Yes, Sir, I touched myself without asking.”

“How goddamn, fuck, fucking dumb can you be? You can’t follow a simple instruction and you go and do something you _know_ you’re not, never _ever_ supposed to do?”

“I’m sorry."

“You...” Tweek shook his head. “You’re… tell me what you are.”

“I’m sorry,” Craig said, defiantly.

“Get back on your fucking knees.”

Craig obeyed and dropped down to the floor in one fluid motion, hands resting upon his thighs. The jingle of Tweek unbuckling his belt sent a jolt through his entire body. “I’m sorry, Sir, I’m a dumb slut.”

“Nnngh, yeah you are. What are dumb sluts good for?” Tweek unzipped his pants, his cock hard and dripping with precome. When Craig darted out his tongue, wanting to lap it all up, Tweek jerked his head back, by his hair, holding him just out of reach, tightening his grip every time Craig tried to inch forward.

“Sucking cock, Sir.”

“That’s right. What else?”  Still refusing to relinquish his grasp on Craig’s hair, Tweek rubbed the head of his cock upon Craig’s cheek, smearing the viscous liquid which pooled at the head upon his face. It was velvety-hot and Craig wanted nothing more than to engulf the entire length into his mouth.

“ _Fuck,_ getting fucked, Sir.”

“ _Yeah,_ fuck yeah,” moaned Tweek, “But you don’t deserve it, baby boy, do you? You were naughty. A naughty little boy.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tell me,” said Tweek, swiping his dick across Craig’s mouth but not allowing him to lick or suck, just ghosting it there for but a moment before he rubbed it on the other side of Craig’s hot-flushed face.

Craig always loved this part most of all, when Tweek would make him _say_ things, when he’d force Craig to utter and confess what he wanted, or what he did wrong. He inhaled, sharply, before letting out a jagged, exhaled moan, finding his voice hoarse and raspy with arousal. “I’m a naughty boy, Sir. Don’t deserve you inside me, because I was bad. Don’t deserve to come. Don’t deserve your cock. I’m so sorry, Sir, I’ll be good from now on, I promise.”

“Hands behind your back. You don’t get to touch me.”

Tweek never let go of Craig’s hair as he entered his mouth. Craig took him in, all the way in, in one fell swoop. It was as if he channeled all the pent-up frustrations he had of _not_ being allowed to come, not being granted the pleasure of getting touched or fucked or _anything_ into sucking Tweek off, letting Tweek fuck his mouth - slowly, gently, at first, then hard, deep, until Craig’s jaw ached and his throat felt raw, abused. He grasped his thumb into his fist, tightly, trying to focus on that and open up his throat and _please_ Tweek, but he was still choking, gagging; reflexive tears pooling at the corners of his eyes and wet, mucousy spittle leaking from his mouth each time Tweek let up, only to slam back in again.

He knew Tweek wasn’t going to last very long, their fucked-up foreplay enough to bring him nearly to the edge based on how he was moaning and shuddering and digging his nails into Craig’s scalp as he fucked his mouth. It was only when Craig honest-to-god gagged that Tweek let up, pulling him back by the hair. Strands of saliva still joined them together, mouth to cock.

“Gonna come on your slut face,” Tweek gasped, taking his dick in hand, “Your, hnng, your stupid slut face.”

“In my mouth, Sir, please,” whined Craig. He watched in rapturous fascination as Tweek began to pump himself, his cock mere inches from Craig’s face.

“N- _ah_ .” Tweek tossed his head back, increasing both the pace of his strokes and his clenching on Craig’s hair and it _hurt,_ it hurt so bad, so _nicely._

“I need it,” Craig said, knowing that he was a pathetic, begging mess, “C’mon, please?”

“No.” Tweek pulled him closer again, rubbing the head of his swollen, red cock upon the corner of his mouth. “On your face.”

“Sir, oh fuck, goddamnit, _please_ lemme taste you _,_ Tweek?”

“You, oh _god,_ you fucking, _nnnngh_ , call me Sir. Close your eyes.”

Craig did, and Tweek fell apart. He swore as he came with a yelp that, under other circumstances, Craig would call adorable, painting Craig’s face with thick spurts of his orgasm - on his cheeks, across his lips and probably in his fucking _hair,_ the bastard, but Craig didn’t mind, didn’t complain.

He never would, not when he knew how much they both loved this, and each other.

“Stay there, eyes closed, okay?” said Tweek, voice breathy and a little high. There was a shuffling and a few stomps of Tweek’s boots, then the artificial-shutter sound of his phone’s camera, not once, but twice. “Misbehave again, and I’ll show these to all our friends and everyone will know you’re, ngh, you’re a bad boy. Open your eyes. Smile,” he chimed, chuckling a bit.

Craig flipped him off, but Tweek snapped another picture regardless. It was obvious that he was trying not to burst into further laughter, which made Craig’s lips twitch into a smile before he could help himself. “Really, asshole? Showing our friends?”

Tweek, sensing the opportunity, snuck another picture of Craig, mid-grin, before a fit of giggles overcame him. “Jesus, no! You know I wouldn’t actually _show_ them, man, it’s just for me to, y’know, jack off to later. Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

Craig was grateful, as the mess on his face was rapidly cooling, solidifying, and he was starting to feel a little gross. He’d stay that way forever, though, if that’s what Tweek wanted, he’d do fucking anything, anything at _all_ for the man, even if it was weird, and nasty, and made him feel ashamed of how much it turned him on.

Wordlessly, he allowed himself to be helped to his feet, and led, hand-in-hand, to the bathroom. His heart was pounding in his chest as he began to return, to feel present in the moment and _this,_ this he _truly_ hated, the return to normalcy, as it felt almost like a comedown, like the one experience he had when he and Tweek stayed up all night snorting coke in high school. Tweek wet a washcloth in their sink, and Craig shuddered an exhale as Tweek dabbed it upon his face, trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach that occasionally came with the embarrassment and loss of control he’d just experienced.

“Sit down for a second, okay?” Tweek asked. It was nice, so nice, that he always seemed to know when Craig was dropping, that he always took care of him. Craig perched himself gingerly on the closed seat of their toilet.

He just had to remember to breathe. Tweek knelt down beside him, stroking his back.

“H-hey, um, you feeling alright?”

“Yeah. I guess. I dunno…” Craig rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t crying, but he felt overwhelmed enough that they stung, just a little. “I don’t know if I’m really into being called stupid like that. I feel kinda… weird.”

Letting out a worried exhale, Tweek kissed his forehead. “What! Honey…. It was just for the scene, you know? You’re not stupid,” he said, “Oh, Jesus, I didn’t fuck up, did I?”

“No, you didn’t fuck up,” he said, slowly, “I just might need some. I don’t know, some, uh…”

He couldn’t explain it. All he could do was fling his arms around Tweek, and pull him as close as he possibly could, opening his knees so that Tweek could be even closer, so that they could kiss and cuddle and just hold each other and Craig could just fall apart, tearlessly sobbing into Tweek’s shoulder not out of sadness but with relief and release.

“Baby boy,” Tweek said, gently, “You’re not stupid.”

“Mmh,” grunted Craig into Tweek’s sweater.

“You’re so smart. You’re, hng, way smarter than I am.”

Craig chuckled, despite everything. “Yep. I know I am.”

“Asshole,” Tweek said affectionately, “That a new limit? Calling you those names?”

“No, actually,” said Craig, “If you want to punish me for real, it works really well.”

“I wanted to punish you. Because you were just so _difficult._ ” Tweek pressed a small kiss to his lips. “A-and you did good, so, man, _so_ good.”

“Mmhmm,” hummed Craig, returning the kiss, onto Tweek’s jaw, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Are you okay? Did you have fun?”

“Yeah. It was with you, honey. Of course I had fun. I wanna do that stuff more often, you know?”

“Me too.”

Craig rose to his feet on shaky legs, Tweek anchoring a hand on his lower back as he followed suit. “Um. Except, you're not really gonna show-“

“Gah! I said no! Of course not! You really think I’d do that, man?”

“No, I just…” He took a deep breath. There wasn’t a chance that Tweek would do that, really; he already had a folder of racy pictures of either Craig, alone, or the two of them, together, on his phone. It was an empty threat. Surely the worst thing Tweek could do with those was jerk off to them - that wasn’t even bad, not in the least. “No, I don’t, babe.”

“I can always delete them.” Tweek had to stand on his toes to plant a kiss upon Craig’s forehead.

“Nah, don’t.” Thinking of Tweek reliving their most recent scene, surreptitiously glancing at his phone while working, or locking the door to his office at Tweek Bros’ corporate headquarters, having to bite his lip to silence himself as he came all over his desk _definitely_ wasn’t a bad thing. “Keep ‘em.”

They pulled each other into another embrace. Eventually they’d get to either the couch or the bed, where they could relax together for the rest of the day but, for now, standing in the middle of their bathroom was fine, as long as they could touch each other.

“Craig?” Tweek’s voice was slightly muted from being pressed against Craig’s chest.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love _you_ , babe. So much.” Tweek’s lips were so soft, so inviting and wonderful against his own as they kissed, deeply. “Okay, I really have to brush my goddamn teeth,” Craig said, after they parted.

“Yep. You, _heh,_ you taste like a shoe, man,” giggled Tweek.

“Shut it, I do not,” said Craig with a grin. Tweek’s hand didn’t leave his back, even as he bent over the sink to splash some more water on his face - and some at Tweek, for good measure, because payback was always a bitch - and turn on his electric toothbrush.

“Wanna watch a movie when we’re done in here?” Tweek asked.

“If I can take a nap on you,” Craig mumbled around his toothbrush, paste foaming out of the sides of his mouth.

“Ha! Man, you look like you have rabies,” joked Tweek, backtracking when he saw the glower Craig was giving him. “O-of course, honey. We can nap, too.”

“Wait, what about the floor?” asked Craig, after spitting out his toothpaste. “There’s probably still coffee everywhere.” The sinking feeling, the tightness and pounding in his chest began to give way into heavy limbs, and sleepy eyes, and floating softness. He yawned.

“Ugh! Just, worry about it later, man, okay?” Tweek kissed his cheek, and grabbed his hand, leading him out of the bathroom.

“Ants,” Craig droned, yawning once more, “We’re totally going to get ants.”

“It’s fucking February, Craig, there, _ack_ , there aren’t any ants, right!? I, I mean, it’s just coffee.”

“Just coffee. Never thought you’d say that,” Craig said. They flopped down on the couch, Craig stretched out with his head on Tweek’s lap. He didn’t care what movie Tweek picked out because, with his hands stroking his hair, he faded, melted into a relaxed, sleepy puddle, and anything else was just background static. That was all he cared about, right then, being close to the person he loved, and trusted, more than anyone else in the world.

“Want me to fuck you when you wake up, honey?” Tweek tucked an errant lock of hair behind Craig’s ear, before massaging his fingers into Craig’s scalp, scratching lightly. “We can do it, nn, nice and slow. Or you can do me, if you want.”

“Mmmhm.” Craig’s arm felt as if it weighed about eighty pounds, but he was able to lift it enough to clumsily, momentarily stroke the side of Tweek’s face. “When I wake up.”

“I’ll get you off so, _so_ hard. You deserve it. You’re so good.” Tweek whispered, as Craig drifted to sleep, a smile on his face at what was to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Join us at southparkkinkmeme (dot) tumblr (dot) com. That's right, we're back on that bullshit! Send in a prompt, create your own content, or both!


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